


50 Shades Of Carr

by derrenbrowns



Category: Jimmy Carr - Fandom, jon richardson - Fandom, jonathan ross - Fandom, other comedians i haven't thought of while writing the tags, russell howard - Fandom, sean lock - Fandom
Genre: M/M, sling your hook
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-11-28
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:13:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2484200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/derrenbrowns/pseuds/derrenbrowns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When literature student Jon Richardson goes to interview young entrepreneur Jimmy Carr, he encounters a man who is beautiful, brilliant, intimidating and has a really fucking weird laugh. The unworldly, innocent Jon is startled to realize he wants this man and, despite his enigmatic reserve, finds he is desperate to get close to Carr. Unable to resist Jon’s OCD, wit, and pessimism, Carr admits he wants him too, but on his own terms.</p><p>Shocked yet thrilled by Carr’s singular erotic tastes, Jon hesitates. For all the trappings of success—his multinational businesses, his vast wealth, his loving family— Carr is a man tormented by demons and consumed by the need to control. When the couple embarks on a daring, passionately physical affair, Jon discovers Jimmy Carr’s secrets and explores his own dark desires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm dedicating this to my pal jessie, who probably loves jimmy as much as i do  
> to layla and jenny, who are like obsessed with jon  
> to miriam, hugh, kirby, deni, beau, emma, polina, muhammad, shyam, izzy and george  
> and everyone who thought this wasn't such a bad idea
> 
> i hope ya'll fucking read this

_Chapter 1_

I scowl with frustration at myself in the reflection of the spoon I'm holding. Damn the spoon – it just won’t shine like it's supposed to, and damn Russell Howard for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for my final exams, which are next week, yet here I am trying to eat my breakfast, but the spoon is putting me off. I must wash the spoons more carefully next time.

Russell is my roommate, and he has chosen this very day to give in to the flu. Therefore, he cannot attend the interview he was _supposed_ to do, with some mega-industrialist freak I’ve never even heard of, for the student newspaper. So he made me do it, or else he'd make the biggest mess I've ever seen and I couldn't risk that, not even for my education. I have final exams to pass, one essay to finish, and I’m supposed to be cleaning the apartment this afternoon, but no – today I have to drive a hundred miles to some shit-hole Seattle in order to meet the creepy CEO of Carr Enterprises Holdings Inc.

As an exceptional entrepreneur and major benefactor of our boring University, his time is very very _very_ precious – much more precious than mine obviously – but he has granted Mr. I'm-so-sick Howard an interview. A real deal, he tells me. Damn his extra-curricular activities. Russell is cuddling his pillow on the couch in the living room. “Jon, I apologise. It took me whole nine months to get this interview. It will take another six to reschedule, and we’ll both have graduated by then. I'm the editor, I can't miss this opportunity. Please,” Russell begs me in his raspy, sore throat voice. How does he do it? Maybe it's Maybelline. Even when ill he looks quite dapper, his strawberry blonde hair in place and blue eyes as bright as a well-polished spoon.

"Of course I’ll go Russell. But get your ass back to bed and stop making a mess, I cleaned up the whole apartment only a day ago.”

Russell rolled his eyes and threw a small bag at me. "Here are the questions and my mini-disc recorder thingy or whatever the hell you call that shit. Just press record here, you dumbass. Make notes, I’ll transcribe it all, you're fucking welcome.”

“I know nothing about Mr. Carr,” I say, pronouncing the "r's" like the spanish musketeer I'm not.

"Now go or you'll be late, Richardson."

 

I took that sucker's SUV and drove to Carr's Industries or whatever the hell that's called, I mean who gives a fuck, really? The building was huge as balls, really fancy and that's all you need to know.

It was quarter to shit-I'm-too-early. An attractive man with firm buttocks stood up from his reception desk to greet me. 

"I'm here to see Mr. Carr. Jon Richardson for Russell Howard." 

"Excuse me one moment, Mr. Richardson." He says and walks back to his desk, flipping through the pages of some fancy-pants notebook. "Mr. Howard is expected, please sign here, Mr. Richardson. You’ll want the last elevator on the right, press for the twentieth floor.” He smiles kindly at me, rubbing his knee, as I sign in. He hands me a security pass that has VISITOR very firmly stamped on the front. I can’t help my smirk. Surely it’s obvious that I’m just visiting. I don’t fit in here at all. Thanking that sexual predator, I walk over to the elevators. The doors slide open, and I’m in another large lobby – again all pretentious. I never really noticed how pretentious the word "pretentious" is. I’m confronted by another too cool for me desk and another young man with firm buttocks. “Mr. Richardson, Mr. Carr will see you now." Maybe Mr. Carr insists on his employees having firm buttocks, I ponder.

I walk up to the freaking huge doors. “You don’t need to knock – just go in.” The man with a great ass says and smiles kindly. I push open the door and stumble through, tripping over my own feet, and falling head first into the office. Fucking 'ell. I am on my hands and knees in the doorway to Mr. Grey’s office (a position I would later on very much enjoy), and gentle, big hands are around me helping me to stand. I am so embarrassed, damn my clumsiness. I have to steel myself to glance up. Fucking 'ell– his buttocks are firm as well. “Mr. Richardson.” He extends his hand to me once I’m not holding onto his waist anymore. “I’m James Anthony Patrick Carr. Are you okay?” He's not old as balls, not what I expected. He's very attractive. Reminds me of Roger Federer. Well, a down syndrome Roger Federer.He's attractive, very attractive. He’s rather tall, dressed in a fine grey suit, white shirt, and black tie with perfectly brushed, black, dyed hair. What draws my eye the most, are his teeth, shining like the stars on Strictly Come Dancing. 

 

"Sorry," I mutter, "Didn't mean to fall on my knees like that."

"As I always say, the longer on your knees, the better." Jimmy walks to his desk and gestures to the chair sitting in front of it. "Sit." he growls in that powerful voice of his.

"I just have a couple of questions-" he cuts me off with the fucking weirdest laugh I've ever heard that gives me a boner.

"I know why you're here. So, start."

After about 20 minutes, or maybe 2 hours, who knows, I've been staring at his pearly teeth, he stands up unexpectedly and moves to the couch near the windows through which you can see the whole Seattle (not that anyone would like to see Seattle, especially in whole).

"Come here." He commands, so I sit next to him.

"What about you? I'd like to know more about you."

"There's really not much to know about me, look at me." I giggle nervously.

 

_"I am."_

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> top notch banter brought to you by me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i'm qualified enough to write a shitty smut fan fic, now all i need is a publisher

_Chapter 2_

 

My heart is pounding as the elevator arrives on the first floor, and I almost trip again. I walk as fast as I can, a bit like when you go to the supermarket and choose a lot of shit food and see someone you know and you're embarrassed so you start walking quicker, just to get away, but not fast enough to look suspicious. Just like that. As I walk out of Carr Enterprise, I clutch my stomach and wince. No man has ever affected me the way James Anthony Patrick Carr has, and I cannot understand why. Is it his gorgeous dyed hair? Maybe his stunning teeth? His amazing tax avoidance scheme? Wit? Power? I can't comprehend my own feelings towards that man. As I walk to Russell's car I think "bollocks". That man is an arrogant prick who likes firm bums. Some of his answers were so mysterious– as if he had a dark secret. Maybe he used to be a porn star or worked in the slave business. Wish I asked him that. And now all I remember are his dark eyes staring at me. Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure he was a hitman. 

I realize that Carr’s more like a man double his age. On his deathbed surely. Forget it, Jonny Boy, I scold myself. I decide to stop thinking about Carr and focus on getting back home. Fortunately the traffic's great and I get there in less than an hour. The house is very close to our Uni and I only have to pay half of the bills since Russell owns it. I slam the doors behind me and sit on the couch next to Russell, that wanker.

"You're back!" Russell turns to me.

"No shit." I answer and start cleaning up the coffee table.

"SO. How was he?" He's wearing his Batman onesie, the one that makes him look like an even bigger wanker. I throw the mini-disc recorder at him. “Thanks so much mate. But do tell what he's like.” Oh shite – here we go, the great Spanish Inquisition by Russell Howard. No one expects the Spanish Inquisition.

“He’s quite intense, I'd say."  Russell stares at me, wanting more but I keep shut, so he sighs.

"I’ll start transcribing the interview.”

_ You better, you piece of shit. _

“I have to run. I can still make it in time for my shift at Sephora.”

“Jon, you’ll be exhausted.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.” 

I’ve worked in Sephora since I started the Uni. I’ve come to know a lot about the things we sell – although I don't use any make up. Of course. I’m glad I can make my shift as it gives me something to focus on that isn’t Jimmy Carr. Mrs. Ross is more than pleased to see me. “Jon! I thought you weren’t going to make it today.”

“My appointment didn’t take as long as I thought it would.” 

“I’m real pleased to see you.” What a charming man that Jonathan Ross is. He sends me to help the customers in the eyeliner area and I’m soon absorbed in the task. When I arrive home later, Russell is wearing headphones and working on his laptop. His cheeks are red and I'm not sure if it's because he's got a fever or he's just been wanking. I slump on to the couch, thinking about my exams and all the cleaning I haven’t done today because I was interviewing _him_. 

“You’ve got some good stuff here, Jon. Well done, you cheap bastard.” I flush, matching his cheeks. "Did you take any notes?” he asks. “Couldn't be bothered.” 

“Lazy ass. But I can still make a meh article with this. What a shame we don’t have some original stills. Good-looking son of a bitch, isn’t he?” I flush again. 

“Fuck off.” I try hard to sound disinterested, and I think I succeed. On no I don't.

“Oh come on, Jon – even you can’t be immune to his looks. And that teeth!” He wiggles his eyebrows, that fucker. Holy cow! I try distracting him with flattery, usually works. “You probably would have got a lot more out of him.” “I doubt that, Jon. Come on – he practically banged you on that couch." He looks at me suggestively and I almost choke on the tea I snatched from him. “So what did you really think of him?” 

Damn, he just won't shut the hell up.  Think of something – quick. “He’s very.. controlling, arrogant – scary really and very pretentious. The word pretentious is very pretentious." Russell takes off his sock and throws it at me. 

"You're fucking pretentious, with your cardigans and OCD." 

"I can understand the fascination,” I add truthfully. 

“You, fascinated by a man? That’s a first,” he snorts. 

We talk no more of Christian Grey that evening, much to my relief. The next day, as I was already starting to forget him, something happened. Ok, maybe that's a lie. So what happened was I almost died that day. I'm sitting behind the counter, minding my own business, eating a bagel,  I glance up and find myself locked in the bold dark gaze of Jimmy Carr who’s standing at the counter, staring at me intently. Fucking heart failure. “Mr. Richardson. What a pleasant surprise.” His gaze is unwavering and intense. Holy cow. What the hell is he doing here, looking at my messy hair and beige cardigan in his cream chunky-knit sweater, jeans, and walking boots? I think my mouth has popped open, and I can’t locate my brain or my voice. Fucking fantastic. “Mr. Carr,” I choke out, because that’s all a pathetic piece of shit like me can manage.  There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips and his eyes are slightly narrowed, as if he’s enjoying some private joke.

“I was just.. browsing” he smirks.  “I need to stock up on a few things. It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Richardson.”

"You were browsing.. In a make up store." His excuse is shit.

"Well." he chuckles DARKLY.

His laugh makes people stare goddamn. My memories of him did not do him justice. He’s not merely good-looking – he’s the epitome of male beauty, breathtaking, and he’s here, so close to me. Here in Sephora. Go figure. 

“Jon. My name’s Jon,” I mutter. “What can I help you with, Mr. Carr?” He smiles, and again it’s like he’s privy to some big secret. It is so distracting. Taking a deep breath, I put on my professional I’ve-worked-in-this-shop-for-fucking-years-so-don't-be-a-twat façade. I can do this. “There are a few items I need. To start with, I’d like some rope,” he murmurs, his dark eyes cool but amused. 

“We don't stock that." 

“I’d like a pair of handcuffs .”

"We don't stock that either. What, are you setting up a sex dungeon?" I giggle and he just stares at me.

"Well, then I'm sorry I interrupted you, Mr. Richardson." And with that he leaves me behind the counter, all hot and bothered.


	3. Chapter 3

Russell scratches his crotch. "But what the fuck was he doing in Sephora?"

"I already told you, he was looking for handcuffs and some rope."

"In fucking Sephora?"

Russell's right. Mr. Carr is a bit strange.

"Well, he said he was in the area."

"Fucking Sephora Jon."

"Before he left he agreed to the photo shoot." I smile nervously.

"I never asked for a photo shoot." Russell opens the fridge.

"Oh you didn't? I thought you did. So I asked him."

"What the actual fuck, Jon?" Russell gives me the 'you're crazy' look from behind the fridge doors. "Do you want to get in his pants so badly?"

"I.. I don't want to.. get in his pants." I mumble, blushing wildly.

"Sure you don't, princess. Now call him." he pours milk in a glass and sat on the sofa next to me.

"W-what?"

"Not like that." Russell rolls his eyes. "To talk about the photo shoot."

I picked up the phone and looked at Russell daringly. I diall Mr. Carr's number and begin cleaning up the coffee table to relieve my stress.

“Err… Mr. Carr? It’s Jon Richardson.” I don’t recognize my own voice, I’m so nervous. There’s a brief pause. Inside I’m quaking. “Mr. Carr. Fancy hearing from you.” His voice has changed. He’s surprised, I think, and he sounds so… warm – seductive even. My breath hitches, and I flush. I’m suddenly conscious that Russell Wanker Howard is staring at me, his mouth open, and I leave the kitchen to avoid his unwanted scrutiny.

“Err – we’d like to go ahead with the photo shoot for the.. article.” Breathe, Jon, breathe. My lungs drag in a hasty breath. “Tomorrow, if that’s okay. Where would be convenient for you, sir?”

“I’m staying at the Horny Hotel in Portland. Shall we say, ten thirty tomorrow morning?”

“Okay, we’ll see you there.” I am all gushing and breathy – like a child, not a grown man who can vote and collect spoons and drink legally in the State of Washington.

“I look forward to it, Mr. Richardson.” I visualize the wicked gleam in his fierce eyes. How can he make seven little words hold so much tantalizing promise? I hang up. Russell's in the kitchen, and he’s staring at me.

"You fucking like him."

“I just find him… intimidating, that’s all.”

I am restless that night, tossing and turning. Dreaming of smoky grey eyes, long legs, long fingers, and dark, dark hair. I wake twice in the night, my heart pounding. Oh, I’m going to look just great tomorrow with so little sleep, I scold myself. I punch my pillow and try to settle.

The Horny Hotel is situated in the downtown heart of Portland. We took our friend Noel, a photographer, with us. Russell has managed to acquire the use of a room at the Horny Hotel free of charge for the morning in exchange for a credit in the article. When he explains at reception that we’re here to photograph Jimmy Carr CEO, we are instantly upgraded to a suite. Just a regular-sized suite, however, as apparently Mr. Carr is already occupying the largest one in the building. An over-keen marketing executive shows us up to the suite – he’s terribly young and very nervous for some reason. I suspect it’s Russell’s gorgeous face and commanding manner that disarms him, because he’s putty in his hands. The rooms are elegant, understated, and with fancy furniture. It’s ten. We have half an hour to set up. Russell is in full flow.

“Noel, I think we’ll shoot against that wall, do you agree?” He doesn’t wait for his reply. “I'll clear the chairs. Jon, could you ask housekeeping to bring up some refreshments? And let Carr know where we are.” Yes, Master. He is so dominant. I roll my eyes, but do as I’m told. Half an hour later, Jimmy Carr walks into our suite. Holy Crap! He’s wearing a white shirt, open at the collar, and grey flannel pants that hang from his hips. His unruly hair is still damp from a shower. My mouth goes dry looking at him… he’s so freaking hot.

“Mister Richardsom, we meet again.” Carr extends his hand, and I shake it, blinking rapidly. Oh my… he really is, quite… wow. As I touch his hand, I’m aware of that delicious current running right through me, lighting me up, making me blush, and I’m sure my erratic breathing must be audible.

“Mr. Carr, this is Russell Howard,” I mutter, waving a hand toward Russell who comes forward, looking him squarely in the eye. “The mysterious Mr. Howard. How do you do?” He gives him a small smile, looking genuinely amused.

“I trust you’re feeling better? Jon said you were unwell last week.”

“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Carr.” Russell shakes his hand firmly without batting an eyelid. “Thank you for taking the time to do this.”

“It’s a pleasure,” he answers, turning his grey gaze on me, and I flush, again. Damn it.

“This is Noel Fielding, our photographer,” I say, grinning at Noel who smiles with affection back at me. His eyes cool when he looks from me to Carr.

“Mr. Carr,” he nods.

“Mr. Fielding,” Carr’s expression changes too as he appraises Noel. “Where would you like me?” Carr asks him. ' _Anywhere, I'd even take you on this table,' I think._

“Mr. Carr – if you could sit here, please? Be careful of the lighting cables. And then we’ll do a few standing, too.” Russell directs him to a chair set up against the wall. Noel switches on the lights, momentarily blinding Carr, and mutters an apology. Then Russell and I stand back and watch as Noel proceeds to snap away. He takes several photographs hand-held, asking Carr to turn this way, then that, to move his arm, then put it down again. Moving to the tripod, Noe; takes several more, while Carr sits and poses, patiently and naturally, for about twenty minutes. My wish has come true: I can stand and admire Carr from not-so-afar. Twice our eyes lock, and I have to tear myself away from his cloudy gaze.

“I think we have enough,” Noel announces five minutes later.

“Great,” says Russell. “Thank you again, Mr. Carr.” He shakes his hand, as does Noel.

“I look forward to reading the article, Mr. Howard,” murmurs Carr, and turns to me, standing by the door. “Will you walk with me, Mr. Richardson?” he asks.

“Sure,” I say, completely thrown. I glance anxiously at Russell, who shrugs at me. I notice Noel scowling behind her.

“Good day to you all,” says Carr as he opens the door, standing aside to allow me out first. Holy hell… what’s this about? What does he want? I pause in the hotel corridor, fidgeting nervously as Carr emerges from the room.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” I blurt out. Holy crap - I just said that out loud? His lips quirk up in a half-smile, and he looks down at me. “No, Jon. I don’t do the girlfriend thing,” he says softly. I have to go. I have to try to reassemble my thoughts. I have to get away from him.


End file.
